


Through Your Eyes

by TheMagicMicrobus (CallMeCaptainOrSir)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU prompt, Abusive Relationship, Bodyswap, Companionship, Confessions, Day 6, Dedication, Depression, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I guess???, Ice Skating, M/M, Parallel Story Lines, Pre - Sochi, Romance, Self Care, Self Harm, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, They're a mess, VictUuri, Victuuri Week, Voice in His Head, it's in the past, learning, long distance, not victuuri, soul searching, yurio is a little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 00:12:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9690503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeCaptainOrSir/pseuds/TheMagicMicrobus
Summary: Katsuki Yuuri is a nothing special figure skater, living an average, normal life. Until he wakes up in the body of his idol, Viktor Nikiforov. Unable to switch back, he finds himself living Viktor’s life. And it’s not at all what he expected. Meanwhile, Viktor finds himself in the body of a beautiful Japanese skater with the kindest family and more wonderful life he could possibly imagine. Is it wrong that he doesn’t want to go back?As the two figure out the each other from the impression they’ve left on those around them, they find that once you know someone so well, it is impossible not to love them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for day 6 of Victuuri week. This will be another multichap, so bear with me guys.
> 
> This first part is short and mediocre. I need sleep.  
> Haha no.

_ Beep. Beep.  _ Yuuri’s arm emerged from a cocoon of blankets, groping for his alarm. Groggily, he pulled his head off the pillow. He squinted, trying to find that damnable clock. It wasn’t on his table. Actually, the table wasn’t there either. His posters, his bed, his glasses. None of it was there.  _ Oh my god I’m still dreaming.  _

The alarm continued beeping, and a phone started ringing from somewhere. He sighed.  _ Alright, alright! This may be a dream but that’s annoying.  _ Yuuri dragged himself out of the bed. Goosebumps crept up his legs as he set his bare feet on the wooden floor. Through a massive picture window across the room he could see snow falling thickly over the city.   _ Definitely not Japan. _ He leaned over to the side table, which was on the  _ wrong  _ side, and turned off the alarm. The ringing stopped, _ finding the phone would be a bit harder. _

It didn’t stay quiet for long. Some pop song began blasting from a pile of running clothes, the sound distorted by the tiny speakers. Yuuri dug it out just as it sang: “I’m Miss SugarPink liquor liquor lips, I’m gonna be your bubblegum bitch.”

_ This is the strangest dream I’ve ever had.  _ He hit accept. Before he could bring the phone up to his ear, someone was screaming at him.

“Viktor! Get your sparkly ass down here right now, what, you think that because you place gold you don’t have to practice with the rest of us?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the same shrill voice. “Screw you! Did you forget already you promised to work on my program with me?”

“What?” The word sat heavy and strange on his tongue.

“You utter dick! I can’t believe you!”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Yuuri standing in the middle of the quiet bedroom with the growing feeling that this wasn’t a dream.  _ But that doesn’t make any sense! How could this not be a dream? It must be. _

 

His stomach growled.  _ Never been hungry in a dream before.  _ Yuuri drifted out into the hallway. His feet led him down the stairs into a kitchen made of glass and stainless steel. He shivered. The entire apartment just felt cold. There were no pictures on the walls, no evidence that anyone actually lived here. It was almost surreal.

He reached out to open the fridge and froze. In dreams, he had always been himself. He’d always had his own body and his own face. And while the face looking back at him from the refection on the fridge door was one he woke up to every morning, it wasn’t his. It was Viktor Nikiforov’s.

 

…

 

Viktor surfaced from sleep slowly, leisurely stretching his arms over his head. Sun streamed through the window above his bed. He blinked against the light. He rolled over, trying to bury his face back in the pillows.

Viktor hit the floor with a loud thump. He groaned, rubbing at the back of his head where it had hit the floor.

 

…

 

A sharp jolt of pain shot through Yuuri’s head. It reminded him of the last time he had hit his head on the ice.

 

…

 

_ Okay, not my bed.  _ Viktor climbed to his feet, trying to make out the details of the room around him. The skater squinted, his vision not what it should be.  _ I didn’t drink that much last night, did I? God, Yakov is going to kill me. _

One of the blobs on the walls look vaguely like a door. He make his way towards it, moving slowly. Not slow enough apparently. Viktor’s foot caught the edge of the rug and he went sprawling to the floor.  _ This not being able to see is going to be a problem. _

Moments later the door like shape bust open, a young woman with short dark hair running in. She jerked to a halt, staring down at him.  _ God I hope you’re not who I slept with last night. This would be so embarrassing. _ She doubled over laughing. Her breath came in broken gasps.

Viktor just hid his face in his hands.  _ With my luck, it probably was you. _

Without a word, still laughing under her breath, the woman crossed the room and grabbed something off the table. She dropped it to the floor besides him and left him to his misery.

Viktor turner his head, finding a pair of glasses.  _ What the hell.  _ He pushed them onto his nose. The skater blinked in surprise when the room slid into focus. Pushing himself into a sitting position, Viktor looked around the room. He mouth dropped open.  _ What the hell did I do last night. _

Covering nearly every inch of the walls was him. Posters, blow ups from skating events, magazine spreads from his modeling jobs. His gaze fell on mirrors closet doors.

“Fuck”

His face was staring at him from nearly every angle. Every angle except head on. The reflection  in the mirror was most definitely his, there was no one else in the room. But that wasn’t him. 


End file.
